THE 'TAILS' OF AL E CAT 1
by greggamer
Summary: Mr. Fuzzyface is a cat who loves noir films. He became a noir-esque detective, solving crimes and creating trouble in the city of "Mew York". He is the greatest detective alive.


**THE 'TAILS' OF AL. E. CAT!**

_A Reasonable amount of Trouble in The Case of the Broken Crystal Vase_

_Mew York, June 9__th__, 1926 - Nightfall_

The memory's fuzzy as the fur. As I wake up, I see blurs of memory flashes from last night. Something happened and I couldn't make anything of it. I remember I was investigating a case of catnip smuggle, stashed inside toy felt balls. A low blow, if ya ask me. But when you're a detective like me, you know how rotten the world is.

The wind blew coldly as I strutted across the wall. Glimmering fragments caught my attention. Something had been shattered in the alley down below. The instincts kicked in on the spot. I landed on all fours and sneaked upon the shiny devices. My small heart stopped for a while, for I recognized the pattern on those glass shards. No, not glass; crystal. My human's crystal vase shattered.

It must've fallen from the ledge. I looked up, at my lair window, and the curtains were flapping to the nocturnal wind, helpless. I smelled something was afoot. My human never let the window opened – she worked night shifts and the city was dangerous.

I scattered the shards with quick paw strokes, searching for evidence. The night was getting colder and I smelled the unmistakable scent of rain approaching from the South. I had, by my calculations, six or seven minutes to harvest evidences before the rain washed them away.

I scratched the ground and the claws filtered a short hair. I examined it closely; it was soft, short and black, similar to my fur. Maybe dog's, maybe cat's; I knew someone with similar fur.. Three minutes, a thunder. I put away the hair and collected a piece of crystal. I knew just the right male who _would_ help me. I leapt graciously onto a dumpster and back onto the wall.

Now, some cats will say Mew York is an ugly city, and they would be right. The town is a dog hole, and I mean it badly. Everywhere you go, these stupid thugs are wearing fancy collars and wiggling their butts at anything that looks at them. I hate dogs, but sometimes they're necessary. I paid a visit to an old acquaintance, a poodle scum, leader of the league of domestic pups. He was a degenerate who would sell his mother for a rubber ball. A weakness I'd use in my favor.

"Detective Cat," he greeted me with his long, disgusting tongue dangling from his mouth. He panted, as always, and dismissed two low-class bitches. "You ruinin' the business comin' here. You lucky you my pal or you be dead already."

"Cut the crap, Dock-Dock," I softly roared. I slowly closed in him, the collar the trench coat adding an extra dramatic effect. I tipped the hat backwards and jumped onto his box. His disgusting bed smelled like garbage. "If your boys were to touch me, K-9, you know your business here would be ruined forever, huh? So why don't you give me what I need and I get the hell out of this hellhole?"

It always worked. Dogs are weak of spirit and will cower at anyone who shows a couple of fangs. That is why humans prefer dogs – easy to control, easy to domesticate, easy to please; they'll like you even if you mistreat them. Just like humans and their governments. I scoffed at Dock-Dock and he cowered a little more.

"O-kay, o-kay," he said, shaking like an abandoned puppy. "Them boys said kitties don't resist catnip and toys, so we sold the shipment; had I known they be endin' up at your place, man—"

"Who said anything about catnip, dog?" I grinned, showed off some more fangs. The dog had already lost it and I knew I owned him now. So I proceeded to the fine arts of information extraction. "I want to know about the crystal vase, shattered at the alley between 22nd and 31st. Spit it out."

"C'mon, man. I know nothin' of no vase. You know dogs don't mess with that kind-a business…"

Dock-Dock was stupid and coward; also a terrible liar. I knew right away he was telling the truth and it angered me, because the only lead I had led me nowhere. Dogs are only aware of what happens under their wet, black noses.

I unsheathed the claws near his snout and whispered. "I'll be back for the 'nip, K-9."

"One bowl of milk, full."

I stopped at a Milkbar on the way home. A good drink always helps me clear the mind. You know, set the thoughts straight, which is important when your mind is your most powerful weapon. I reached the tongue for the milk when I saw her. A _feline-fatale_ entered the bar and instantly drew every cat's attention like she was a dangling string or a provoking yarn. It was Lady Silkfur, or Joanna the Kitty.

There were prettier cats in the room but they didn't know what I did: _her._

"What's up, fine feline," I gallanted suavely. She dodged me. Her long tail could hang me on the spot. My weakness, scent of vanilla; it was the essence her human put on her bed. You know, I've been there.

"Mister Fuzzyface," she giggled.

Damn her. Only she knew my human-given name. I removed my Fedora and put it on the counter. She wore an extremely sensual, tiny Cloche hat; as usual, she had me on her paws. But I had a job to do. I'd have time for games later.

"Listen, baby, I need your help."

She waved her tiny paw and the bartender brought her usual – a small cup of malted vanilla milk. The girl had class. "What do you need, detective?"

"Information, pretty-face. You're a well-connected kitty. Help me in this and I'll owe you one."

"You already owe me one, Mister Fuzzyface, if you know what I mean," she whispered and giggled, strategically leaning forward two and a half inches, just so her scent could fill my nostrils once again. "Is it about the vase, I suppose?"

Hiding my excitement and playing cool, I sipped my pure milk and put the crystal shard on the counter. I looked at her and waited. She picked the thing up and sniffed, looked closely, ran her jellybeans through the patterned drawings.

"French, hand-made, single unit; There's only an atelier in Paris where you find one of these, Al. E. It was your human's, wasn't it?"

I just nodded. She had to have more information, I needed it.

"It was nap time, Cat. I caught a glimpse of a shadow by your window. It was in a hurry, passed like a scared bunny. It must've hit the vase and it fell off the ledge."

"Did you see where he went, baby? I need to catch this prick."

"I think it jumped back to the alley, or something. Sorry, handsome, didn't see anything else."

"Thanks, Silk. You put me back on track. I'll see you later."

She giggled. I left.

The rain had gone. The crystal shards were all scattered across the alley, drowning in pools of dirty water. I'd need luck to find more clues. Silk said the shadowy figured was in a hurry and ran by the window. He must've been running from something—or to something. Maybe he'd seen something near the window.

I climbed the wall and the fire escape staircase back into my apartment. I sighed, looking at outside. Why couldn't my eyes capture anything anymore? I was lost; this was the hardest case of my career. I strutted back and forth on the ledge, trying to make my brain work. It was when I sensed a familiar scent. _Too_ familiar.

I jumped onto the iron stairs by the window and moved to the floor below. _There._

Mingled with the neighbor's plants, a colorful object, lost inside an old, clay vase. I approached it and it was my toy. How the hell did my toy end up there? Nothing made sense. My fuzzy memory, odd circumstances, a broken vase, a short hair—a short hair…

Carrying the toy on my fangs, I quickly ran back up to my home, leaped over the couch and arrived at my personal bed, near the TV rack. I scratched my pillow and a string of hair got stuck on my claw. Reaching for the hair on my pocket, I carefully compared them.

It was mine.

I shook my head and rejected the thought. Was I being framed? Maybe by the individual who delivered these catnip toys? I suppose there is a theory that fits.

Click. The lights turned on. I looked behind me and my human just got home from work. I purred at her and went to greet her by the door. I notice she is carrying a large paper box.

"Hey, Mr. Fuzzyface! How was your night?"

_Fine, my friend. I'm closing in the criminal. Don't worry, I'll find out who destroyed your—_

"…the old vase. You were all startled last night. Don't worry, Fuzzie. I'm not mad at you because you broke it. I bought another one, do you like it?"

I broke it, then. I was following evidences created by myself, chasing myself. I repented. I had broken two other vases previously, but this one was too god-damn far.

Her theory made perfect sense. The catnip must've gotten me electrical and I, while playing, accidentally tossed my toy out the window. I must've rushed to recover it and accidentally hit the vase.

_Sorry, it will never happen again._

She smiled, pat my head and gave me treats. Another mysterious case solved by the great detective Al. E. Cat with a slightly reasonable amount of trouble.


End file.
